


grab fanny | a.k.a. ode to a smoke fetish

by Damson



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:12:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damson/pseuds/Damson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during the celebrations in Currahee, Luz and Toye share a moment. Originally posted on livejournal way back in the days of the original dirty dozen. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	grab fanny | a.k.a. ode to a smoke fetish

The air swims as they leave the officers mess; above clouds move over, covering the glimmer of millions of stars with puffs of grey. Luz pulls the crumpled pack of lucky strikes from his pocket, roots two of them out, and puts them in his mouth. He flips the lighter with an expert ease, and lingers while he lights them, inhaling quick and sharp - twice - until his face is lit by the two glowing butts and the blue moonlight.

It hadn't, Luz thought, taken much to get him outside; he'd been easy, plain and simple. But for that moment after he'd agreed, and watched the small flicker of relief, then excitement in Joe's expressive eyes, it was worth it.

He hands one of the cigarettes to Joe, who takes it between his forefinger and thumb and pauses, rolling it between them, letting his eyes linger a little too long on Luz's mouth before lifting it to his own lips.

Inside had been stifling, rowdy, stuffy and filled with smoke. Luz was in his element; serving as temporary barman, cracking jokes alongside glasses. Everyone was full of talk, and an abundance of bawdy comments bounced around alongside topics like favourite baseball teams and who could beat who at darts. They boasted about the girls they'd had, girls they would have, but it's the really young guys, not old enough to shave, who boast the loudest and lewdest.

Luz remembers his high school gal from before with fondness and a hint of embarrassment. They were fairly young, naive, and the memories are so tarnished that when Luz feels Joe press his hand to his forearm, move his thigh until it brushes Luz's own he feels a confusing mix of the memory of that girl and Joe Toye, who couldn't be more different, right here and now.

The trees become blocked from view when Joe moves towards Luz, closer still, smoke drifting from between thin lips - and then there it is, a single kiss on the corner of his mouth. Signing the deal and shredding any doubt that lingered as pale smoke ghosts floating around them.

But still, fronts need to be maintained, and he hears himself saying the words "What the hell..." and pulling back.

Joe moves backwards an inch or two, but only to transfer the cigarette from one hand to the other. Then, using his free one he smoothes and plays with Luz's uniform at the waist, and replies, "Just let me..." while looking into Luz's eyes trying to gage something, anything. Luz lets him touch, and he pushes apart the heavy woollen fabric of the jacket, pulls up the shirt and vest and feels underneath. Smooth belly under Joe's fingertips. The cigarette in Luz's hand hangs untouched at his side between still fingers, the ash at its tip lengthening quietly.

Joe wonders if Luz will taste of old cigarettes, and knows he will. If he lets his tongue run along Luz's upper lip, the one that's smirking at him, he thinks he might taste beer, and he does. He lets his eye linger on the pulsing vein in Luz's neck, alive, like a vampire moving in for a bite. He likes to look, intensely and quietly, he also likes that his gaze seems to be making Luz squirm a little.

Joe's shaken from his reverie as Luz decides he's no longer just going to stand there waiting, smirking, still, for Joe to make his next move. He's catching Joe's lips, teeth knocking accidentally as he looses his balance - Luz has to reach up slightly for his mouth. Luz closes his eyes automatically, some strange habit he doesn't remember forming, and when he pulls away he takes a first drag from his neglected cigarette and makes a joke while knocking off the excess ash. It's one Joe's heard before, about a barmaid and a jockey, but he takes a drag too and laughs anyway, watching the moonlight splash Luz's face, filtered through a veil of smoke.

There's more than just the two of them involved here, there's Luz, Joe, and both their smokes. The thought makes Luz laugh and he takes a last quick drag before flicking the butt away over Joe's shoulder - that's one less. This time they both go for a kiss at once, clashing messily, tongues flitting tentatively at lips before becoming surer. As the kiss deepens Luz moves one hand to the back of Joe's head, the other crawls up Joe's shirt to finger the outline of Joe's brass knuckles under the rough fabric. He laughs against Joe's mouth, man never goes anywhere without them.

Back pressed against the insubstantial slatted wood wall, Luz can hear the guys talking and howling inside. He wonders if they heard the thump when Joe pressed against him and he jerked back in half-surprise. He feels himself becoming hard, blood rushing downwards, and he hopes to sweet jesus that he won't blow his load before time. It's been so long, too long, and Joe is unzipping Luz's fly, resting his other hand on the wooden wall.

Joe's mouth is hot on Luz's neck and then the heat disappears, dissipates. When he opens his eyes to the horizon all Luz can see are the crags of trees in the darkness - no leaves - their fingers pawing at the sky, and Joe, now below his line of sight, is kneeling.

Swaying with the north wind - pausing now - Joe's hand on his thigh - high on the back of his thigh. Joe has big hands, Luz had noted, long before he'd ever felt them like this. On him, steadying him like a horse whisperer calms a wild horse. When he looks down Joe looks up, and for a moment it's all too immediate, Joe's eyes are too dark, too encompassed in shadow, and it scares him. But he knows he'll buck against Joe's mouth soon, and it won't be out of fear.

It's been so long that every touch, every sensation feels unnaturally amplified. Joe's chapped lips wrap around him; the heat of his mouth combined with the cooler air finding its way through gaps in his clothing raise goose bumps on Luz's skin. His knees are weak and it doesn't take long before he closes his eyes and lets himself go.

:::

Later, days months weeks, he hardly knew, Luz scratches a dirty fingernail over a scorch mark on his dress uniform; the place where Joe had forgotten to hold his lucky strike away from the wool cloth, seconds before it dropped from between his knuckles onto the ground to find itself buried and extinguished by the damp grass.

The small burn serves as a reminder of that warm heavy night.

Joe would find it amusing that he left a mark.

:::  
end.


End file.
